The New High King
by Fedora411
Summary: Returning to Skyrim after 18 years in the Imperial City, Bjorn is a broken man barely 21 years old. Follow him on his journey as he eats, fights, and sleeps his way across Skyrim, while trying to figure out what he believes in, and coming to terms with his powers as the Last Dragonborn. DBxHarem Rated M for language, graphic violence, and possibly lemons.


**Hello, and welcome to a brand new story. I have been gone for a while, but now I'm back. A few things to say before we begin.**

 **First, thank you to everyone who has followed all my other stories in the past. You all helped me get better as I went along, pointing out errors or giving me ideas, so again, thank you.**

 **B: This will be my version of my 'Dragonborn Harem Challenge' story idea. If you want an in-depth summary, or would like to take the challenge, please check that for more information.**

 **Lastly, although this story will be a harem story, there will be no lemons as I can't write them very well. If any of you can, and would like to submit them to me, instead of just making your own version, I would be happy to add them in.**

 **With that out of the way, please enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not work for Bethesda Game Studios, and therefore, none of the following characters or storylines belong to me, except for the ones I made up.**

'I am definitely lost,' the young man thought to himself as he pressed onwards into the unknown.

 _Flashback..._

At 3 years old, Bjorn had left Skyrim with his parents. Erik Steel-Arm, and his wife Serra, moved to Cyrodiil because Erik had been appointed the new Royal Blacksmith. They had been given a nice home in the Nobles District (formerly known as the Talos Plaza), and Bjorn had grown up with a high class education, and several years of training in smithing from his father. While he had been an intelligent student and a skilled smith, his true talents were in combat. He was a dedicated student of the blade, capable of defeating an Alik'r warrior in single combat by the age of 16. He was also an expert marksman, trained by the Bosmer's finest archers. On a clear day he could hit a bullseye from 70 yards. Everyone was sure he would be promoted to Legate of the Imperial City by his 21st birthday.

But then the Bone Break Fever struck. Many died, or were left crippled, including Serra, who passed away shortly before Bjorn turned 20. He withdrew from the Legion and left the Imperial City, traveling Cyrodiil as a drifter for almost a year, doing odd jobs here and there to get by. His wandering came to an end one day though, when he heard that his father had died. Rushing back to the Capitol, he learned that his father's smithy had been broken into. While Erik had managed to kill the intruder, he had been stabbed in the gut with a poisoned blade, and passed away just a few moments later. The killer was discovered to have been a member of the Dark Brotherhood, sent by a rival blacksmith to open up the job as the Emperor's personal armorer.

Returning to a place he swore never to go back to, Bjorn stayed just long enough to attend the funeral and then sell his house, taking only his mother's wedding ring and his father's hammer. Then he set out to find a home in a country he barely remembered. After 18 years, Bjorn was going back to Skyrim.

 _End Flashback..._

Night was fast approaching as Bjorn continued his trek down the Jerall Mountains into Skyrim. He was about to begin looking for a place to bed down, when he heard the familiar sounds of a battle taking place up ahead. Sneaking through the trees, he came across a clearing that was exploding with people. Imperial soldiers poured into the area, hacking and slashing their way through a force of men wearing blue cloaks fighting under the sigil of a bear. The warriors in blue were putting up a valiant resistance, but they were slowly being surrounded by the Legion. As he was about to turn away, Bjorn caught the eyes of what appeared to be a middle aged Nord female wearing the mark of an Imperial Legate. Through the chaos of battle, he couldn't make out what she said, but she pointd at him and a few men ran towards him. He turned around, hoping to lose his pursuers in the woods, but as he started to run he tripped over a gnarled root and fell to the ground. The three soldiers reached him as he got back up. Bjorn looked at them as they started to circle around him, blocking off his escape. One of the men stepped forward and began to speak.

"Stand down, son. By order of General Tullius, the Military Governor of Skyrim, you are under arrest for treason against the Empire. Place your weapons on the ground and then put your hands on your head."

"What are you talking about, I'm not with them. I just got here and..."

"That's exactly the kind of thing a Stormcloak spy would say. Stand down, or we will use force," the soldier said, drawing his sword to emphasize his point.

"I am a citizen of the Empire, and I demand you let me go!" Bjorn shouted, getting frustrated at the current turn of events. He had heard that a war was brewing in Skyrim when he left Bruma a week ago, but at that time there hadn't been any major battles in over a month, and none this far south. Just as he was about to continue his tirade, he heard an impossibly loud yell from the battlefield, and several soldiers flew back and fell sprawling to the ground. Noticing a chance as the three soldiers all turned to watch this new development, Bjorn turned and ran again. He kept running randomly through the woods, trying to avoid going too long in any one direction. As he turned again, he stumbled straight into the Imperial base camp. Panicking, he was about to try and run away again, when he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and the world turned black.

 _Ralof's POV..._

Sitting with his hands tied in the back of an Imperial cart, Ralof knew this was how his story would end. Looking around at his fellow prisoners, he felt slightly guilty. While he and his fellow Stormcloaks knew that execution awaited them if they were captured, the other two men who shared the cart with Ralof and Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak didn't deserve that kind of punishment. To his left sat a Nord named Lokir, who had been caught stealing a horse. Normally, that was dealt with by either paying a fine or spending a few nights in jail. But, Lokir had been unlucky enough to run right into the Imperial Legion as they were tying up the Stormcloaks. The person across from Ralof however, was a different story. He had been thrown on the cart unconscious, and had been called a rebel spy. But Ralof didn't recognize him, and when he looked at Ulfric, the gagged man had shaken his head to say that he didn't know him either.

The young man looked to be in his late teens to early 20s, no longer a boy but not quite a true man yet. He was a scruffy looking Nord, with short blonde hair and some stubble that couldn't be considered a real beard yet. Ralof couldn't be sure because the man was hunched over, but he appeared to be a little over 6 feet tall, probably 6' 2" at the most. His muscles were toned, probably from years of smithing, if the hammer they had taken from him was any indication. As Ralof continued to examine him, the man started to stir.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there," Ralof said, nodding towards Lokir.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there... You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants," Lokir ranted, looking between Ralof and the quiet young man.

"We're all brothers in binds now, thief," Ralof replied pensively.

"Shut up back there!" the soldier driving the cart shouted at them.

Ignoring the soldier, Lokir asked, "And what's wrong with him, huh?" nodding at Ulfric.

"Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High king."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening."

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

"And what about you lad? What's your story?" Ralof asked the young man.

"My name is Bjorn. I've come from the Imperial City, but I was born in Whiterun. I..."

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" an Imperial soldier shouted, cutting off the rest of Bjorn's story.

They had reached the walls of Helgen, a small town in Falkreath Hold. Ralof started reminiscing out loud, trying to drown out the whimpering of the thief sitting next to him. They entered the city, and the gates closed behind them.

 _Bjorn's POV_

'It's funny, Imperial walls once made me feel so safe,' Bjorn thought, looking around at all the people crowding around the wagons, small children and old men alike, no doubt trying to catch a glimpse of the man sitting next to him. He had heard stories of Ulfric Stormcloak from his father, who had served with the Jarl in the Great War. Before he could think any further however, the cart came to a stop and the soldiers started calling names.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," a Nord with reddish-brown hair read off a list. The Jarl stepped down out of the cart and went to stand next to the other captives. "Ralof of Riverwood," the soldier continued. The blonde man in the Stormcloak armor stood up and joined Jarl Ulfric. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" the horse thief shouted before making a run for it.

"Halt!" the woman standing next to the man who was reading the list called out. Judging from her outfit, Bjorn guessed she was a captain.

"You're not going to kill me!" Lokir yelled back at them.

The captain turned and looked to a group of soldiers standing nearby. "Archers!" she ordered, and the men drew their bows and took aim. The three men let loose, and Lokir fell to the ground. Arrows protruded from his left calf and his right shoulder, but the shot that killed him was sticking out of his neck. The captain returned her gaze to the prisoners and asked, "Anyone else feel like running?" Nobody moved after that.

"Wait. You there. Step forward. Who are you?" the man with the list asked, looking at Bjorn.

"My name is Bjorn, son of Erik Steel-Arm. I am a citizen of the Empire, and I demand you give me a fair trial!"

"Where do you think you are, the Imperial City?" the captain asked. "There is a war going on here, and we found you at the rebel encampment. I don't care who your father is or what you demand, you go to the block like everyone else."

"But captain, his name's not on the list."

"To the block like everyone else. Am. I. Clear."

"Yes, ma'am. You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland," the soldier said, like that made it any better.

Bjorn was beginning to suspect that things in Skyrim were worse than people in the Capitol suspected. It appeared to him as though this 'General Tullius' had declared martial law, and given himself free reign to do whatever he wanted to. This was definitely not the same Empire he had been a part of just one year ago.

Walking over to the other prisoners, Bjorn heard a roaring in the distance. A priestess started to pray, but he wasn't listening to her, and she was interupted by a Stormcloak walking up to the block and telling her to get on with it. As the man's head rolled, Bjorn heard the roar again, closer this time. Something within him stirred when he heard it, but his thoughts were cut off when the captain started yelling at him.

"Next up, the Nord in the rags!"

Of course, she hadn't even bothered to remember his name. At this point, other people had heard the roaring and were looking at the sky, hoping to see what could cause such a sound. The answer came just before the executioner's axe came down. A giant black dragon landed on the tower in front of him. Dust and debris flew everywhere, a chunk of the tower even falling and crushing the headsman. Then, the dragon let loose a torrent of flame, and all hell broke loose.

As Bjorn stood up, he noticed several things at once. The Imperials had scattered, the prisoners were running, and everything around him was on fire. He saw Ralof, the man he had shared the cart ride here with, gesturing for him to follow. He was shouting something too, but Bjorn's ears were still ringing from the tower collapse. Deciding that going with the man was his best option at this point, Bjorn ran towards him, and the building he was pointing to. Ducking inside, Bjorn took a moment to catch his breath. Ralof sealed the door behind them, then turned to look at Jarl Ulfric, who had also made it with them.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked, his brain refusing to believe what his eyes were seeing.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied, maintaining his wit, even in this time of crisis. The building they were in shook, and Ulfric turned to the stairs, and shouted, "We need to move. Now!"

Bjorn and Ralof moved to follow him up the stairs. Halfway up, however, they were stopped when the wall in front of them exploded inwards, and the dragon's head loomed in their way. They turned and ran back down the tower as the dragon snapped up a Stormcloak soldier whose leg had been trapped in the rubble. Seeing its prey fleeing, the dragon sent a tongue of scorching fire chasing after them, before flying off to find an easier meal. The three men returned to the now empty hole in the side of the tower and looked out. The whole city was now a raging inferno, with charred corpses littering the ground, and the shells of houses just barely standing. Then, Ralof pointed to a relatively intact building just below them.

"See that inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going! Go! We'll follow when we can!" he said, patting Bjorn on the shoulder.

"Are you crazy?!" Bjorn asked, looking between Ralof and Ulfric. "What about you two? No offense, but you don't appear to be in good enough shape right now to make that jump."

"You're right, lad, but you can. We need to stay here and help our brethren who are still trapped down below. Good luck, and see you on the other side," Ralof said, turning back down the stairs again, with Ulfric at his side.

'Good luck to you, too,' Bjorn thought as he turned to jump. Getting what little running start he could, he leapt across the street, tucking and rolling as he hit the ground. Making his way back onto the street, he saw a young boy holding the body of a man that was probably his father. The soldier from earlier, the one who read off the list, was calling for the boy to follow him. Looking over, he saw Bjorn, and called him over.

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."

Looking at the boy's dead father, Bjorn doubted the accuracy of that statement. But, considering that it was his only option, he decided to follow along for now.

"Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join their defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," the old man said, leading the child away.

"Stay close to the wall!" the man, now identified as Hadvar, shouted. He gestured for Bjorn to follow, before ducking down and slowly making his way forward. As they reached the end of the wall, the dragon landed just above them. It's wing draped down over them, but it didn't seem to notice them. It shot out another breath of fire, then took off into the air again. "Quickly, follow me!" Hadvar urged, as they made their way out into the open.

"Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we're leaving!" General Tullius ordered, coming around the corner and spotting them. He continued on towards a small fort just ahead, with a small squad of troops behind him.

"It's you and me, prisoner. Stay close!" Hadvar said, moving to follow the general. Just then however, Ralof ran past them. "Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!" Hadvar growled at the man. Bjorn guessed there must have been some some personal grudge between them.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time," Ralof replied.

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde." With that, Hadvar ran to the keep General Tullius had pointed to.

"Lad! Come on, into the keep!" Ralof called to Bjorn, heading towards a different door into the fort.

While Hadvar had seemed nice enough, Bjorn didn't want to risk running into the captain who had ordered his death or General Tullius. Besides, after all he'd been through in the past year, Bjorn's faith in the Empire was quickly fading. Making up his mind, he ran after Ralof.

"Through here. Let's go!" Ralof shouted, holding the door open for him. As they slipped inside, the dragon roared again. This time though, Bjorn could swear he had heard it speak.

It had said, "You're soul will feed my hunger."

 **And scene. Most of the dialouge in this chapter was lifted directly from the game, but from this point forward, it should be mostly original. I will keep the games dialouge for important scripted events, however. All that aside, thank you to everyone who read this, and I would love to hear what you thought of this story.**

 **Special thanks to Ciarle, Narmo, killerdio123, BigDaddieSora and Serventia for following this story even though it only had 542 words at the time. And to killerdio123, TheUnholyMessiah and Serventia for adding this to their favorites list.**

 **I should have chapter 2 up sometime in the next two weeks, so until then, thank you for reading.**


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